This is the conversation that dictates the shape of our lives.
Our weight rests in the arms of another. Warmth and the heartbeat's tempo, the song of security; these will surely sustain us.
But our most nuanced requests are known only unto us--and at first nobody responds.
We cry until we're old enough to ask why. Then we think we have the answer. Then, to prove the answer false, someone loves us like crazy.
There never was an answer; and there never was a question. Just fate, stepping in to show us that no one is the originatore of love. We can only open our hearts and feel it grace, in unsuspecting moments, what was in the shadow of destiny.